Next Round's On Me
by Whazzup 225
Summary: David has a drink and a chat with an old friend. Rated for a few cuss words, but mostly just dialogue.


_Santa Carla, California_

_1985_

"It's like this, see. We're kings of the whole bloody world, and there ain't nowhere to go from 'ere, know wha'me saying?"

David nodded and took a long pull from his drink. "Exactly. We're at the top of the food chain."

"Everything beneath us is ours for the taking. Food, drink . . . women."

"Speaking of which, how's what's her name? The one you were with in Bavaria. Or was it Bosnia? Last time we saw each other."

"That was Bulgaria, mate."

"I knew it was somewhere in Europe. Before the wars, right?"

Spike nodded. "When you were still runnin' with Damian's crew. Sorry to hear he popped his clogs."

"You know how pack wars are. Or do you? You haven't been in a pack for a while, have you?"

"No, just me and Dru. Angelus took off round the turn of the century, and when he was gone, Darla decided she wasn't havin' any fun, and she hooked up with some bloke outside Paris. Don't remember his name. He's dead now, anyway."

"It wasn't Francois Broussard, was it? I heard he had a new girlfriend."

"Nah. You don't know 'im."

"Your turn to go get the drinks," David said.

"I thought I got 'em last time!"

"I mean the **real **drinks. Cast an illusion and lure someone over here for a nip."

"Um, I never, um, learned to do that, actually."

David stared at him. "You can't do a simple illusion?"

"Never wanted to. The whole point of bein' a badass vampire is that people **know **you're a badass vampire, and they don't mess with you."

"So no?"

"No," Spike shrugged.

David looked around. The bar was not exactly busy, on a Wednesday night at the end of the tourist season, but it wasn't empty, either. If just one person looked the wrong way at the wrong time, the whole thing would fall apart. It took a lot of concentration to keep an illusion in place for any length of time, and the one he had up now was starting to fade.

"Forget it," he said. "Just bring us another round of beers, and we'll go for the good stuff later. One thing about living in Santa Carla I've always loved: there's a lot of people passing through, whom no one knows is here, and no one will ever miss. Just be careful they haven't loaded up on too many party favors before you tap them. I hit a guy once - he looked so nice, so clean-cut, you'd never have known - and I was dangling from the ceiling for a week. Going on about how I was Batman or something."

"Too bad you don't have pictures," Spike said. "Sounds quite amusing."

"Yeah, well, once I got my head on straight again, I vowed to be more careful. It's mostly the kids who you have to watch out for. They're into the hard stuff, some of them, stuff that will fuck you up right good."

"In a not-amusing way," Spike said.

"Exactly. You can hunt with us tonight; we don't mind the company, so long as you know your place."

"My place? What's that supposed to mean?"

"The Alpha gets the first taste of the prey. Then the Beta, then the rest of the pack. I'm afraid you're at the back of the line, buddy."

"What, I don't get credit for age?"

"Not much. Don't worry, we'll get a nice, big, juicy one so there's plenty left over for you."

"Don't do me any favors."

"Beer?"

Spike looked at David blankly.

"You were going to get the beer?"

"Oh. Right. Beer. That still in the same place as last time?"

"Course it is. Don't get lost on the way back."

"Don't go anywhere till I come back."

A few minutes later, Spike returned, two mugs of beer in each hand. "Thought I'd save us some time," he explained. "Bloke behind the bar asked for my keys, and I told him I didn't have any, so I had to give him yours. That all right?"

"You gave him my keys," David said flatly.

"Dropped 'em in this big tin at the end of the bar. You can pick 'em up tomorrow morning, he said, though that's not much good in our case, is it?"

"We'll figure something out."

They drank.

"Sure was funny, runnin' into you," Spike said. "Didn't expect you to be in a little nothing town like this."

"You'd be surprised. Like I said, a lot of people drift through here. Nobody misses them."

"That does sound like a good setup, dunnit?"

"It's amazing how well it works for us."

"I can see that."

"So where is the lovely Drusilla tonight?" David asked.

"She's at home. She's, um, not well."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Hope she gets better soon."

"Me, too. You still with that, um . . . that skinny blonde thing who was all over you?"

"Catherine? No, she's long gone."

"Left you?"

"Died, actually. Killed in a skirmish with a werewolf pack."

"Sorry, mate. That's tragic, that is." Spike shook his head and made sympathetic noises.

"It was a long time ago. I'm over it."

"Do you? Do you ever really get over it? I mean, losing someone so important to you, that's a big thing, innit? 'Snot like it just goes away. It never really goes away. Just gets easier to deal with."

"That's . . . actually very deep. I'm impressed," David remarked.

"There's a lot about me you don't know. We've barely scratched the surface. I s'pose there's a lot about you I don't know, either. I don't know how old you are."

"If you're asking," David said, "I'm not telling."

"Ooh, one of those. Must be pretty young, then. Less than a century, then?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Spike leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the table, his dark eyes locked on David's blue ones. "See, there's always ways to tell," he said. "You can be as mysterious as you like, but I bet the next round that I can guess when you were born, plus or minus about thirty years."

"I don't think you can."

"Prove me wrong, then. I'll buy the last round of the night, **and** provide the real drinks later. Let me have a guess. No, three guesses."

"You'll never figure it out."

"Oh? Methinks His Lordship doth protest too much. Scared, are ya, Davey boy?"

David smiled, and then in one quick motion, he grasped Spike's ear and twisted it.

"Ow! That bloody hurts, you wanker!"

"Call me Davey boy again and I'll rip these off and feed them to you. You are testing my patience, Spike, and I don't like having my patience tested."

"All right, all right! Let go already!"

David released his grip, and Spike reached up and rubbed his ear before sitting down again. "Better?"

"Yeah."

"By the way, Billy Idol called. He wants his look back."

"You kiddin' me? He's the one copyin' me! Has ever since I went backstage at one of his New York shows, y'know, to meet him and that. I think I did the hair in the Sixties - did a lot of stuff in the Sixties. Most of it I can't remember. Probably wouldn't want to. When'd you do yours?"

David reached up and stroked his similarly-shaded mane. "Just a few years ago."

"Copyin' me, then."

"I honestly didn't know your hair was that color. Pure coincidence."

"Don't believe in coincidence. I've been thinking I should dye it black. Then Dru and I could be a matched set. What d'you think?"

"You really need me to tell you what to do?"

"Nah, just askin' advice. Would you do it?"

"I don't think so. I might go back to my natural color, though, at some point. Next time we move."

"Oh? When's that?"

"Not for a while, I think."

"Cause it seems like you've got it good here, mate. I woulda picked someplace a little less . . . beachy, though."

"Yeah, maybe."

They sat and finished their drinks.

"Germany," Spike said abruptly.

"What?"

"Where you're from. Right?"

"Not quite."

"See, you've lost whatever accent you had, but the way you pronounce your consonants . . . I'm no 'Enry 'Iggins, but I can tell. Eastern Europe, maybe?"

"The actual country," David said, starting on his second beer, "no longer exists."

"Ah hah! Knew it. Somewhere over by Russia, right?"

"In the neighborhood."

"Don't even tell me Transylvania. That is **so** last century."

"Nope."

"So, we're talking . . . before the First World War. But not too much before. You're still young enough to be comfortable with modern technology. Some of the really old ones won't even touch a light switch. Like they're bloody afraid of electricity, or something. But you, you know your way around okay. So I'll say . . . turn of the century?"

David just sat there smiling, saying nothing.

"Am I right?"

David took another sip of his beer.

"Am I even bloody close?"

The longer he sat there, with that knowing grin on his face, the more annoyed Spike became.

"Look, mate, we've got drinks riding on this. Would you at least tell me if I'm right or wrong?"

Ever so slowly, the smile still on his lips, David nodded.

"What? Wha's that supposed to mean? Yes? Yes what? I'm right? I'm wrong? Tell me!"

David got up from his chair, a little unsteadily. "If you're done with those," he said, indicating Spike's empty glasses, "I'll take them up to the bar. Then we can get out of here."

"You still haven't answered my damn question! Did I get it or not?"

A low chuckle was his only answer. Then he was alone at the table.

"Right," Spike said, reaching for his long black coat. "Last time I let that bastard take me out for a drink."

"Oh, by the way," David said, as he returned to their corner, "that's two drinks you owe me."

"Bloody hell I do!"


End file.
